


Quantum Locked

by inheritanceofgeek



Category: Quantum Leap, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Crossover, F/M, Greaserlock, M/M, Mild tidbits of information on american history, being able to use ALevel History to right sort-of-gay fanfic even more so, looking at motorbikes is fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritanceofgeek/pseuds/inheritanceofgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Beckett is a time traveller who leaps from life to life trying to put right what once went wrong. On one of his leaps he finds himself in 1956 in the body of a teenage girl with a love of china cats and diagrams of human organs. He soon discovers that his purpose for being here is to save the life of four people: Sherlock Holmes; John Watson; Mrs Hudson and the rather dishy Gregory "Heat" Lestrade. </p><p>Quantum Leap knowledge not needed but preferable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quantum Locked

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an English girl born in 1994, and whilst I have done some research into American history and culture in the 1950s, please forgive me for any historical inaccuracies. 
> 
> Shout out and love to Tallenough aka Stitchy for beatering and, what's the oposite of Brit Picking? 'Murica-fying?Freedom Checking? Making things wrong so as to appear right in the context of the setting? Well, love and shout outs to her. 
> 
> This is sort of the result of marathoning series 3 in one day and then going on tumblr to be flooded with Reichenangst. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it =)

Carolyn hung up the phone, grinning. "That's it boys, Swiss International have agreed to buy MJN but still keep all the original crew- including Martin as captain!"  
"That's brilliant Mum!" cried Arthur grinning from ear to ear. 

"Yes it is rather." She was wearing the first grin Sam had seen on her face in the five days he'd spent as First Officer Douglass Richardson. As the blue light engulfed him he knew this strange little British family would be just fine. 

  * 

  "See you at Fox’s at six then Molls."

A teenage boy wearing a pastel coloured polo shirt and a pair of rather short sports shorts, put an arm round Sam’s waist and gave him a peck on the cheek; leaving through the door of a high school science lab. 

"Fag," declared another boy, this time in a leather jacket and jeans, hair perfectly styled into a loose quiff. He appeared the very image of a typical Greaser, if it weren't for the microscope and open notebook sitting next to him, filled with various scientific symbols and complex diagrams. 

"Sherlock!" cried a shorter boy standing next to him, arms crossed wearing large square glasses and a sports jacket- "Don't. Not now."  
 "Her boyfriend is homosexual. Massively so. I think she has the right to know, don't you?" 

Boyfriend? Gay? In the 1950s?

"Oh boy..." 

 "Exactly" smirked the teenager. 

  *

 Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator and vanished .... He woke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong and hoping each time that his next leap will be the leap home  
   
*  
   
Sam looked up to check his reflection in the window. He saw a rather pretty girl wearing a floral print dress in tune with the fashion of the time with a cardigan that almost, but didn't quite, coordinate with it. Her long mousey hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail by a scrunchie. 

"Molly? Are you okay, baby?" Asked the sandy haired boy, taking a step towards her.

"I'm sure Sherlock's mistaken, I mean" he gave a nervous laugh- "No one here is gay, you don't get them here in nowheresville!" 

Sherlock gave a smirk. 

"Oh come on John, hair slicked back like that, shorts well above the knee combined with a pink pastel coloured polo."  
 "I wear pink polo shirts" answered his... Friend? John. 

The boy just smirked at him, a suggestive look in his eye. Ah. So not just a friend. 

"Plus there's the highly suggestive fact that he just left me this note" he pulled out a slip of paper from underneath a petrie dish- "telling me to meet him behind the cafeteria in twenty minutes. I think you might want to call it all off, Molly."   This boy was a complete asshole! Thought Sam. Not only had he just outed this poor boy and his own apparent boyfriend in a time where you could still get 30 years for wanting to have sex with someone you loved; but he'd completely humiliated this poor naive girl, letting her in on the biggest secret she'd ever have to keep.

"I er... he's not, I mean, I'm not, I’m gonna go now yeah." 

His awkward exit didn't even make the two boys bat an eyelash, so maybe him and this Molly person had something in common, other than being trapped in the wrong time period.  "Hey Sam! Over here!" 

Al waved from some nearby lockers. Sam spotted an open one and pretended to put some of the text books he'd been carrying (advanced Chemistry and biology- yes, he did seem to have somethings in common with this girl, thank God!) inside it.

"So," said Al in his usual brisk manner, consulting his handheld matrix- "your name is... Molly Hooper, you're in your last year of high school and the year is 19-” he hit the machine on the side- "1956."  
 "Right" said Sam talking into the locker. "And why am I here Al? Because that guy over there just outed some poor boy along with himself! Am I here to stop them all getting arrested or something?"  
 "Poor boy? Oh no, that'll be James, Jim, Moriarty. He's your"  
 "My boyfriend I know"  
 "Well sort of yeah. According to Ziggy you've been going out for three weeks now. He's your first boyfriend and, yeah, sorry Sam, Ziggy says there's about a 70% chance that he's only dating you- that is to say Molly- in order to hide the fact that he's Gay. Ouch. Tough break on you both!"  
 "Tell me about it".  
 "Anyway, Ziggy says the reason you're here in the first place is to save the life of... Wow... Four people"  
 "Four" cried Sam amazed. 

Four people in one little town? What can of happened, be about to happen, even? 

"Yeah. Four. Says here Gregory Lestrade, Mrs Emma Hudson, John Watson and-" he hit the device again, sometimes Sam felt he just did that to annoy Ziggy "Sherlock Holmes - Wow, what a name – were all killed four days from now."  
 "John and Sherlock?" Sam looked amazed. "You mean those two in there? Sherlock Holmes? I can see why someone would want to kill him, the man's a nightmare"  
 "Sam," chided Al seriously- "The boy throws himself off a roof top. He ends a promising career as a scientist and in the same day the three people closest to him are also shot in seemingly unrelated incidents!"  
 "Sorry Al I just, he just humiliated Molly and that Jim guy..."  
 "Who you talking to Hooper?" came a call from his left. Sam looked up to see a long faced black girl staring back at him, an eyebrow arched.

  It turned out the girl was called Sally Donovan. She and Molly had grown up together, their fathers having fought side by side in the war. When Brown vs. The Board of Education was passed two years ago, her parents had signed her up for the same school as Molly. That took a lot of guts, Sam thought, as the two of them made their way to the parking lot at the front of the school. Whilst mixed education between the races was now legal throughout America, there were still plenty of clashes, most recently a group of kids the state over has been forcibly barred from entering their own school! As it was, Sally was the only black kid in the entire school, though that didn't seem to bother her. The looks she got were only returned ten fold, and by the sound of it she was one of the brightest in her class. 

"What's the tale, nightingale?" Asked the girl giving her a shrewd look. "Your head's been in the clouds this whole time, you're quiet normally, sure, but not this." 

She paused as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson came out of the building at last and headed over to where a BMW R69 Motorbike was parked.

"You're real gone over Holmes, aren’t you?"

Sam spluttered.

"Him? No way! He's a complete-" he searched around for the appropriate term for this decade, he'd been leaping for so long now he'd built up quite the database for slang terms from a plethora of eras, but it still took some time to find the right one- "Shuckster!" 

Sally laughed, "You've got that right baby, I told you all along that boy was bad news. Oh, look out now, here comes his Square." 

John walked over to them, hands in his pockets. 

“Molly, can I have a word?” 

Sam looked over at Sally who rolled her eyes, “Go on then, but don’t take long.”

John led Molly a little way away from the crowd, far enough that they wouldn’t be heard but close enough so that Sally could still keep an eye on Molly. 

“Quite protective, that friend of yours” 

“Yeah well, she just wants what’s best for me. I guess,” shrugged Sam, hugging the text books closer to his chest.

“Look, about earlier, I’m sorry about Sherlock, he, well, he’s a bit of a Dip Stick when it comes to people, but he’s actually all right. Deep down. So just, er, just forget about what he said earlier about Jim, okay?” he smiled, a dazzling grin that explained all the attention the girls of the school had been giving him. “You’re meeting him at Fox’s, yeah?” 

“Apparently” 

“You have a good time yeah? We’ll probably swing by later, Heat’s back in town and so’s Mycroft, which means that Sherlock will really need to get out!” 

The boy gave him a wink as he walked back over to the motorbike. He slipped on a leather jacket (which went down very well with some of the girls) and Sherlock threw him a helmet. John clambered on behind him. 

The two weren’t even trying to be subtle! Al must have caught hold of the look on Sam’s face.

“Ziggy says there’s a 78% chance-” John reached out to hold on tight to Sherlock’s waist as they sped off out of the parking lot and onto the main road- “make that 87% chance that they are-” he gave a wave of his hand which said it all, really.

He coughed.

“Great bike though.”

“Didn’t take you down for a BMW fan?”

“Well, no,” agreed the hologram “I’d have gone for a Vespa or an Indian, much sexier, but nothing could beat the R69 for performance. Hey, did you know-” he said punctuating his point with his ever present cigar- “that in 1959 John, John Penton, used, well will use, the R69 to set the transcontinental record?” 

“Really.” remarked Sam, making his way back to Sally, who was, once again, giving him a shrewd look. 

“Yeah, he did it in 77 hours and-”

“Al, focus!”  
 “Sorry”

“Who’s Al?” asked Sally, 

“No one, I er, I said, er, I’ll focus. On the date later. At Fox’s.” 

Al took notice of Sam’s tone as he opened up one of the mysterious doors to go seek out some more information. 

“You’re going out with Jim later? Again? After you’re last one was such a fake out?” 

“Oh well, you know, I thought, I’d er, give him a second chance.” 

Sally gave a long suffering sigh 

“Honey, I love you but you have really got to stop acting this way! You’re a fine looking girl, you don’t have to settle for people like him.” She gave Sam a playful nudge- “What about that Knight boy in your pre-calc class? I’ve seen him looking at you. I think you’ve got a real chance there.”  
 “Oh, I don’t know” said Sam imitating a blush “I think I’ll just stick to Jim for now…”

“Well, I hope you have fun tonight at Fox’s anyway. See you around Hooper,” she said before taking a right at the crossing.

“Yeah, see you, Sally,” waved Sam

*

Sitting on Molly’s bed Sam turned to Al, “So, what do you know?” 

“Well. A fair bit actually, looks like some guy called Arthur Doyle wrote a report on the case. It made the national papers! A suicide and three murders in one day? The Press loved it. Anyway, turns out this ‘Heat’ guy is really Gregory Lestrade.”

“Why’s he called Heat?” asked Sam, it was a strange nickname, after all.

“Well, ‘Heat’ is slang for ‘Police’ and Ziggy says that he was planning on joining up. So, I guess that’s where that comes from.” He tapped a few more buttons on his handheld “Yeah, so, he is one of Sherlock Holmes’ few friends. Tonight he comes back from College for a visit.”

“The same day as Mycroft?”

“Who is Sherlock’s older brother yeah. No connection, I don’t think, although Ziggy says they booked themselves into the same Hotel room a couple of years back…”

“Is everyone in this town Queer?” laughed Sam.

“Well, statistically-”

“Yeah, Ok, I get it Al,” he laughed. 

Even when times were tough, even when there were murderers on the scene or babies about to be born, Al was always there. Always making him laugh or telling him tales from his many conquests over the years, although of late he liked hearing stories of his life with Beth and their four daughters. 

“So, Gregory- Heat, is back. Well what does that mean?”

“Well, not a lot I guess. If it does you’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“And what about this Mrs Huchen?”

“Hudson.”

“Hudson woman? Who’s she to him?”

“Well, it’s kind of sad story, actually. Sherlock was kicked out by his parents a couple of years back, Ziggy doesn’t say why, but he was on the street for a bit before this Mrs Hudson woman picked him up and looked after him. He lives with her now over at 221 Baker Street. His brother still visits him, but as you can imagine, they don’t have the best of relationships…”

“No, I can imagine not. So what do I do? How do I stop them from dying?”

“Errr… we, don’t actually know,” Sam flopped back on the bed, exasperated- “ but we’re looking into it!”

“I thought you said you knew what happened?” 

“Well we do know what happened, we know that they were all shot with different rifles and at roughly the same time, we know where they were shot from a distance but we just don’t know-”

“Don’t know why” chimed in Sam.

“Exactly. But we’re working on it, for now, I suggest you go on your date with Gay Jim” 

“Oh joy” muttered Sam. H

He’d been on several dates with several men and women. Kissed some of them, had to do more than that for others, but having to pretend to be a teenage girl with a love of china cats and diagrams of human organs (as the room’s décor suggested) who was on a date with a boy who he knew was only using her to hide that fact he was Gay but Molly didn’t know… well… that would take some acting talent! 

“Just go get Ziggy to find out some more information, all right?”

“Ok Ok, oh! And you should so wear that little blue dress with the white polka dots in the cupboard there, the new one. With those cute little heels oh those would look so lovely on you, Sam!” The worse part was, he was serious. 

*

Fox’s turned out to be the local diner, Sam had made sure to arrive there early just in case he got lost on the way or Molly’s mother asked him any more questions about “That nice James boy you keep talking about of late” and how come he’d “stopped wittering on about the Holmes boy”. Mothers. He’d hold a grudge if he didn’t know first hand how hard it was to be one. 

Everyone in here seemed to know who he, Molly, was – though most didn’t seem surprised to see him on his own. There was something about the way they smiled and spoke to him that just felt, inappropriate? Like he was a child and not an 18 year old who just got top marks in her Biology exam which included a practical dissection of sheep’s lung! Well, according to the exam paper he’d found in her room, anyway.

“Molly!” Jim waved coming over to her- “Hi, how are you? Let’s sit over here.”

“Um, okay” said Sam allowing himself to be led by the hand to another booth not that far along from where he had been sitting.

“Um, how come we’ve moved?” Sam now had his back to the door.

“I wanted us to have the best seat in the house, baby,” he reached out across the table and grabbed his hands, which would be a romantic gesture if he weren’t gripping hold of them that little bit too hard.

“Jim, could you-”

“Oh, sorry baby was I hurting you?” he brought them to his mouth and kissed them before letting Sam take them back- “I’ll go order our food, then, be right back.”

All through dinner, Sam couldn’t help but notice little things about Jim that just put him off. He gripped hold of things too tightly, including Molly’s, his, hand. He seemed light hearted and jovial but his smiles never met his eyes, which were black and cold. He knew that hiding your sexuality mustn’t be easy… but there was something just plain cruel about everything he did. Plus there was the uncanny resemblance he had to a lizard. Head always oscillating from side to side, eyes rarely fixed on Sam’s but rather always darting to the front door of the restaurant. Like he was expecting someone to come in. Someone more important to him then Molly, who was meant to be his whole purpose for being here. Sam had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that this boy was hiding a lot more than his lack of desire for Molly. 

“I’m just going to go powder my nose” said Sam, excusing himself. 

“Don’t be too long, I’ll miss you” his date replied, but his eyes remained fixed on the door.

“I won’t be.” 

In the cubicle Sam cried out for Al, who promptly appeared through one of the mysterious doors. A few of the other girls from the restaurant came in, giggling and applying more lipstick. Al eyed them but agreed to join Sam in the cubicle without a fuss. He was a married man, after all. 

“I want you to get Ziggy to do a background check on Jim Moriarty, Ok? There’s something about that boy I just don’t trust.”

“Oh come on Sam, you’ve got to pity the guy, it can’t be easy being a homosexual in the fifties.”

“I don’t care about that, there’s something more. He, he holds on too tightly and his eyes they’re too cold. Just, just look him up will you, Al? I want to know what happens to him after this shooting. Where does he go, what does he do, who does he do it with, all right?” 

“Ok Sam, Ok.” And he disappeared back through the door he’d just come through. 

Back at the table, Jim’s eyes hadn’t left the door. In fact, he’d barely touched his burger and shake. 

“Jim, it’s getting kind of late, could we just pay the bill and get out of here? My Mom’s going to be getting worried.” 

He wanted to get away from this boy and collect his thoughts a bit more. Maybe wake up early to talk to Heat or - just at that moment in walked Sherlock, John and another boy, older than them by about 2 or 3 years with slicked back dark brown hair that, despite his youth, was already starting to lighten round the follicles – suggesting he’d have a full head of grey hair by the time he was 35. He wore similar clothing to Sherlock, but whilst Sherlock’s were perfectly fitted and relatively new, this newcomer’s were clearly second hand when first bought, and were now wearing through in places. He had a friendly face but seemed resigned to everything around him, including Sherlock. Sam guessed that this was Heat.

“Hey there Molly” said John, coming up to him- “and hello again Jim.” 

The boy gave Molly a peck on the cheek and reached out to shake Jim’s hand. Jim ignored him, his gaze focused on Sherlock. John put his hand down again, awkwardly. 

“Um, Molly, have you met Heat?” he asked turning to his friend- “He’s in college, what you studying again, Heat?” 

“History, bit of science, English, Math” he shrugged 

“But you want to be a cop, right?” asked Sam conversationally, the boy let out a bark of laughter.

“That’s right Miss Molly, been taking lessons from Sherlock here I see.” He playfully shoved him with his shoulder, but Sherlock was staring right back at Jim, a look of thought on his face, without looking away he responded.

“I have in no way being giving Molly lessons. Any deductions are ones she has somehow managed to stumble upon by herself, though one as simple as your dream profession is hardly impressive.” 

“Oh, how come then?” asked Heat, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows at Sherlock.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” said Sherlock, breaking his gaze with Jim to give Lestrade one of his trademark condescending looks. 

The other two boys turned to stare at Sam expectantly.

“Oh well, it was kind of obvious really, um, your name is Heat but that’s not a real name, I mean, no one’s called Heat are they? And you’re at college so you can’t be all that, you know, stupid.” 

Sherlock smirked.

“So I guessed you must want to be a Cop when you were done because you were going by ‘Heat’.” Sam blushed. 

You’d think after however many years he’d spent hopping from one life to the next he’d be able to come up with better responses to accidental releases of hitherto unknown pieces of information, but apparently not. Nobody seemed to mind though, Heat even seemed to beam more broadly at him and John was watching the two of them with keen interest. 

At long last, Jim spoke. “Great to meet you Heat, but Molly and me best be off now. Catch you later Sherlock.”

“No you won’t.” The air was tense as everyone looked between the two. 

Heat and John exchanged quick glances of worry whilst Sam just felt like his fears were all coming true. 

“Come on then Molly, we’re going.” It wasn’t a request. 

Sam hesitated. On the one hand he didn’t want to leave behind this chance to question Heat, but at the same time he didn’t want Jim’s suspicions to be raised too much. If he knew that Sam suspected him of, something, then who knows what that would mean? 

“I’ll see you around then Molly,” he grinned, holding on to her hand in solidarity. Maybe he really did know something.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Sam asked without thinking it through properly. The man was taken a back.

“Um, yeah sure. I’d love to. If your boyfriend doesn’t mind,” he laughed.

Jim didn’t even react; just stood by the door, face like marble. 

“I’ll be hanging around outside school for Sherlock tomorrow. You can find me then, ok? Get home safely.” He smiled glancing over at Jim once more.

“Will do” he smiled back, glancing at Jim himself.

*

Sam let out a sigh of relief when he was once again safe and sound in Molly’s room. Her mother had asked lots of awkward questions about his date, but he’s been able to bat them off with a simple “Mooooooom!” – a technique he’d seen played by his Sister on numerous occasions. The date had only deepened his suspicions surrounding Jim. His obsession with Sherlock and the little exchange they’d had, entirely non-verbal as though communicating telepathically. Sherlock had obviously noticed something about him, he’d seemed... enthralled by him, as though he were a particularly enticing mystery that needed solving. And in many ways that was Jim, wasn’t it? Hiding behind so many layers that all you could truly tell about him was through gut feelings. There had been something else as well, recalled Sam, a split second of realisation, of recognition… what had that meant? There must be something else going on, what was Sherlock doing in the School Laboratory in the first place? They hadn’t been having any lessons, and it didn’t seem like schoolwork – Al had said he was meant to become a Scientist, but could there be something more behind it?

“Al?” he whispered “Al are you there? Have you got anything for me yet?” he waited. 

Nothing. Typical. He began to get changed into one of Molly’s frilly pink night dresses (ignoring the human skull kept in the bottom of the wardrobe – it seemed to have hand written labels all over it in marker pen – where does a girl get a human skull to begin with?) when, in true Al form, he came in.

“Al! I’m changing here!”

“Oh, sorry Sam.” He didn’t seem all that sorry as Sam clutched the dress to his chest.

“Turn your back all right? So what did you find out?”

“A lot actually, it took us a little while because Jim changes his name after this, becomes ‘Richard Brooke’, he’s some sort of consultant. It all looks pretty shady to be honest, people who get involved with him, well, they’re either criminals or victims if you catch my drift.”

“So I was right! He does have something to do with all this!”

“Yeah, there’s more though, Ziggy says that when Sherlock’s room was looked over they found a box of scraps of paper, at the time no one thought anything of it, but Ziggy says it contained a load of ciphers which might have some more answers…”

“The notebook!” cried Sam- “He had it with him yesterday in the Lab, I didn’t think anything of it at first.”

“You’ve got to get a hold of that notebook Sam! If it’s got the answers that might be able to tell us why Jim’s doing this!”

“Right” He’d need to figure out a way to get a look at those notes…

*

All day at school he’d tried to figure out a way to get the notebook. He’d tried to take it from Sherlock’s bag when he wasn’t looking but that was impossible given the boy’s brains and reflexes. He’d tried ‘accidently’ putting it in his bag after they were packing up after Biology, though that obviously hadn’t of worked. He’d tried the old, ‘Knock into them in the corridor and spill all their books’ tactic but John had caught him before he’d fallen and, again, Sherlock’s reflexes were just too good damn him! He’d even sat with John and Sherlock at Lunch (much to Sally’s and Sherlock’s annoyance – they’d spent most of the time glaring at one another whilst John tried to make polite conversation) but Sherlock’s grip on it never faulted, and the boy didn’t eat at all, merely pushed the plate of meatloaf aside whilst John rolled his eyes and muttered something about health and nutrition. Though given the state of the school’s lunches as a whole, Sam highly doubted there was anything nutritious about it at all. 

In the end, he decided to throw caution to the wind and just ask.

“Um, Sherlock,” he’d discovered that starting sentences with ‘um’ tended to raise less suspicion that he wasn’t actually Molly.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me looking at your notebook? It’s just that, um” another one – he was getting good at this “I was hoping to, erm,” -mixing things up a bit there-“get a bit of a more in-depth knowledge of the chemistry we’ve been studying and I noticed you’d been taking extra notes, plus all those times I’ve seen you in the lab after school, I thought it might help me, a bit.” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow “Is that all this has been about?”

“All what?” asked John, ever ignorant of such affairs

“Molly here has been trying to steal my notebook all day. I assumed it was out of some form of,” he paused for a moment, looking for the right word “sentiment towards me.” 

Sam got a bit annoyed at this

“Look, the world doesn’t revolve around you, you know! The great big Sherlock Holmes! Have you ever considered that some of us just want to get on with our lives, succeed in life! That perhaps, our greatest gift to you is our friendship? Because Mol – I don’t deserve this, this, treatment. So… there.” He finished weakly. 

There was silence for a moment as Sherlock looked as though he’d been slapped around the face and John looked between the two of them as though they’d both just sprouted extra heads or something. From behind them Sam heard someone giving them a slow clap. 

Turning round, he discovered that it had been Heat, a big grin spreading across his face. 

“Well said Miss Molly! It’s about time someone stood up to him.” He clapped him round the shoulder. 

Now it was Sherlock’s time to blush- “I’m sorry, I’ll…here.” 

He thrust the notebook at her. 

“Wow,” added John- “That’s the first time I’ve heard him apologise in… ever, really. Whatever’s got into you Molly, I suggest you keep it.”

“Yeah,” Heat grinned, giving Sherlock a sly look “He could use to be taken down a peg or two more often.” 

Sherlock shifted a bit where he was standing. 

“Come on John, Heat” he turned around, expecting both his friends to follow, but for some reason Heat stayed behind “Heat, we’re going.” 

“I can see that Sherlock.”

“Well?”

John looked between Greg and Sam, a twinkle in his eye “I think Heat here would like to spend some time with Molly.” He grinned.

“Why?”

Sam shifted from one foot to the other. Was this guy always such a dick? I mean, he didn’t deserve to die, and Sam was sure he couldn’t be all that bad if he was friends with Heat and John but, man, was he an asshole. 

“Because, I think he’d like to spend some more time with her, get to know her a little better.” He was speaking slowly, as if to a rather annoying child – which, reasoned Sam, was what he was.

“Well fine then, she can come too.”

He went to walk off again but this time no one followed. Greg heaved a sigh.

“Sherlock, I am not coming with you. John is right, I want to spend some time with Molly,” was that a blush developing on the greaser’s face? “I would like to do so alone, she’s got some questions for me, haven’t you Molly?”

“Oh yes” said Sam, clutching Sherlock’s notebook closer to his chest. 

Whilst he might be able to deduce something from the ciphers, he still needed as much information on recent events as was possible. Sherlock still looked confused but was too busy being dragged off by John towards his motorbike to say anything. Heat smiled at him.

“Fancy getting something to drink? That is… if you’re not seeing Jim later…” There was an endearing tone to his voice that made Sam warm to him even more. 

“No, I’m not seeing Jim, in fact.” continued Sam “I’m probably going to end it soon.”

“Oh really?” he responded, trying not to seem too disappointed about the whole idea.

“Yeah I mean, we’re not really, um clicking, and we’ve only actually been dating three weeks apparently so it’s not all that long.”

“Well. That’s good then.” He smiled walking over to his bike “I mean, it’s not good that you’re breaking up but it’s not bad if you’re you know, the one doing it.” 

Sam looked at the bike. It was a 1938 B.S.A 500 Gold Star. Like everything Greg seemed to own it was second hand but still looked pretty cool. The college student caught him looking and gave a sheepish grin.

“It’s not as good as Holmes’ I know, I mean, Mycroft bought him that bike – and he only accepted it because it was German and you know how much he likes to rebel against everything,” he was gabbling now- “I mean, you’re probably used to riding on better bikes I know, but this one was my Dad’s he left it to me after you know, the war and all, and I can’t really afford another one and I’ve tinkered with it a bit you know, tried to make it faster and more comfortable to ride, I’m sorry.” 

This boy was adorable, thought Sam. He seemed pretty smitten with Molly and they’d only known each other a day. 

“It’s ok” replied Sam, laughing, “It’s cool.” 

Greg seemed to relax at this.

“So you got a helmet?” asked Sam.

“Oh shit, no,” he dived into the large bag strapped to the back of the bike and pulled a rather old, rather battle worn helmet “here take mine. I’ll be ok.” He grinned.

Sam looked at him, this boy was still a kid, he should not be used to riding around without a helmet on, but this was the 50s… “Thanks Heat” 

“Call me Greg.”

“Thanks Greg.”

Going for a drink turned out to mean not going to a bar but going to a small diner on the outskirts of town. It was called ‘Scotland Yard’. 

“Like the Police Force in England, right?” asked Sam teasingly. 

Greg laughed, “The guy who owns this place used to work for them, it’s a bit of an in joke I guess. Still, Frank’s good for a laugh, he’s the one who persuaded me to join up.”

“The Police?” asked Sam, 

“Yeah. I was, well, I used to get into a lot of trouble as a kid. Nothing major just, in front of the Principal all the time, then my Mom made me get a job here and well, the rest, as they say, is history.”

They were sitting down now, two massive chocolate milk shakes in front of them. The whole place was not nearly as clean or flashy as Fox’s, but there was a certain air to it, a sense of friendliness and community; plus the Milk shakes were much cheaper, and much nicer. 

“Anyway, you wanted to ask me some questions?”

“Yeah” said Sam, leaning in, “I was, er, wondering what you knew about Sherlock?”

Greg’s shoulders slumped a bit “Oh, yeah, Sherlock, of course, I should have known.”

“No, not like that, I’m just, worried about him.”

“You mean with the events of the past few days?”

“Yeah, what’s, what’s with that?”

“I don’t know, that’s part of why I’m here. His brother, you know Mycroft right?”

“I know of him. Weren’t you two close at one point?” 

Greg flushed a bit, playing with his straw.

“We were acquainted yes, not anymore though. But that’s not important, he knew I was free for a bit this week, so he asked me to come over and check on Sherlock, what with all these disappearances and John’s, you know, too close to him to really call him on anything, you’ve seen what they’re like. Though” he paused- “John has been good for him. You should have seen what he was like before. Nightmare.”

“More so than now? I didn’t think that were possible.” 

Greg laughed, “Oh believe me, it is. Had to drag him out of a ditch on more than one occasion. That’s how we met, kind of.” He shrugged “But that’s for another day I guess.”

“I’d like to hear that story one day though” smiled Sam, twirling his own straw- “but about those disappearances crazy, aren’t they?”

“You’re telling me. First Mrs Wilson’s packages arrive at her new house but she never does; Mr Wilkes gets all those weird messages through the door of the bank before his Clark turns up dead and the week after that those Jade Dogs of Wilkes’ go as well.” Greg shook his head.

“I know Sherlock was able to help the cops on all of this and they got them all… but all this stuff involving these kids… the little boy, you know, the son of that politician who goes to the private school round these parts? That boy who drowned in the Swimming Pool three weeks back? What was his name? Carl something… Anyway that really got to Sherlock.”

“Yeah, I remember” said Sam lying through his teeth.

“You do? I thought Sherlock kept it all quiet? I know the police did…”

“Well, erm, he, er… asked for my help. A bit.”

“Really?” asked Lestrade, impressed. “I thought he worked alone. Wow, John really has changed him. But it’s this latest one that’s got Mycroft worried, I don’t know why it’s this one but, he’s got these theories that, well it kinda makes sense, you got a bit of paper?” 

Sam rummaged around in his school bag, getting a pen and a scrap of notepaper. 

“Look, say this is where Sherlock lives, right?” He drew a dot in the centre of the page “and here is where Wilson’s new house was”- he drew a dot on the edge of the paper “and here was where the bank was” he drew a dot about ten centimetres closer to the central dot “and then there was where that school” closer once more “and then well, that business with the swimming pool” closer even still.

There was now a neat line of dots each one getting nearer and nearer to Sherlock’s. 

“So Mycroft thinks that, well, whatever’s going to happen next, it’s gonna happen to Sherlock.” He pushed the paper back to Sam.

Sam stared at it “If Mycroft cares so much, and he’s in town as John said, why doesn’t he speak to Sherlock about it?” 

Greg gave shake of his head.

“There’s too much bad blood between them. Their childhood wasn’t the happiest of ones, and Mycroft wasn’t there all that much. No matter how much he might want to help, Sherlock would never listen to him.”

“So he sends you?”

“Pretty much. Or John.”

“And Mrs Hudson?”

“Oh you’ve met Mrs H?” grinned the boy. “He doesn’t normally introduce people to her, he must really like you, but erm, Mrs H doesn’t like Mycroft much either. She’s a big family woman and well, in her mind Mycroft abandoned Sherlock. So he lost all rights to his new family. Last time he tried to speak to her she hit him over he head with her purse.” Greg laughed at the memory. “When I’m old, I wanna be just like her.”

“If you live that long…” muttered Sam.

The rest of their ‘Not a Date Just Two People Talking’ went really well, Sam felt; to the point where it was almost getting awkward. He didn’t want to lead Greg on after all, he liked the man sure, but did Molly? He couldn’t be certain, after all. This wasn’t like those time he’d leaped into couples who needed to be together, or married ones or anything like that. This was just, sub plot as it were. He need to focus on the case, for everyone’s sake. 

After a lecture from Molly’s Mother about the dangers of staying out past her curfew and questions about who that boy was and what happened to James and who did she think she was ridding around on a motorbike with said strange boy; he’d retired to his –Molly’s – room where Al promptly appeared. 

“So what did you find out on your Big Date?” asked Al. 

“It wasn’t a date, we’re just friends.” Said Sam, raising his hands in the air.  
   
“Sure,” sniggered Al

“I did find out something, actually, Sherlock’s been helping the police with all their cases, off the record apparently.”

“Well, that would explain why Ziggy couldn’t find them!”

“Yeah, not only that but Greg” Al smirked.

“Greg now is it?”

“Yes.” He said tersely, ignoring the teasing “Greg, well, Mycroft actually, he’s Sherlock’s brother, recons that all these crimes are circulating around Sherlock and he’s going to get it next. With any luck this-” he picked the notebook up from the top of the desk “should give us a bit of a better answer as to what is going on round here.”

“Why don’t you just confront Sherlock? Ask him straight on”

“Al, he’s keeping all of this a secret John and Greg. He probably doesn’t even know that he’s about to die and why would he?” he set the notebook down again. “I’ll solve it in the morning, it’s a Saturday, I’ll have all day”

“Ok Sam, but remember,” he consulted the handheld- “ Ziggy still says there’s a 87% chance that they’re all going to die still… now that’s lower than it was but still, not good Sam. Not good at all.”

“Al, come on, it’ll be fine, I’ve got people out of worse before, right?”

“Oh of course you have yeah, this’ll be, I’m sure you’ll be fine yeah, sure. Just get some sleep now Sam, OK?” 

“Ok. Good Night Al.”

*

The alarm next to Molly’s bed trilled and woke him at 7am which meant that by ten am he had breakfast, gotten dressed, done the morning chores (which had included mucking out Bluebell – Molly’s Rabbit) and was sitting at the desk staring at the pages of the notebook, Al by his side. It was filled with little half squares and triangles, each with a dot in a strategic place… they’d been staring at it for a while now, trying to work out the code. They’d started by finding out which letter represented “I” as it appeared the most in the alphabet, why, even this sentence right here contains more Is then you might think. 

This had somewhat helped but they still weren’t close… and then it hit Sam. “Damn my Swiss Cheese brain!” he cried- “It’s a Pig Pen Cipher! I used to use these in High School.”

“Ha! You’re right Sam why didn’t I think of that!”

“Which means if I remember correctly, this” he drew up a quick code, one with boxes and one with diagonals “is how you solve them!” 

“Do you think Sherlock’s got these yet?”

“Probably said Sam, but he also probably knew what they meant first hand and didn’t need to write down a translation here” he tackled them one by one.

The First read:

“I do so like the color Pink, don’t you? I know Jenifer Wilson did.”

The Second:

“I was so bored at the bank today that I left you a little message. Did you get it? I hope you did.”

The Third:

“ I was ever so naughty. I took those two doggies for a walk, I’m sure their owner won’t mind.”

The Fourth:

“This boy is just like you, isn’t he? Abandoned by his parents despite all his intelligence. I think that’s why I took him. I’ll give him back once I’m done though.”

The Fifth:

“Little Carl had it coming. So do you. Unless you stop interfering.”

And the last one

“I waited for you but you never came. That was very rude of you. Looks like I’ll have to come for you. And your little dog too.”

There was no doubt in Sam’s mind anymore. It was Jim, and Sherlock knew it. Probably knew what was coming. 

“Shit,” said Sam, “Al, I need you to go find Sherlock, see what he’s up to then come back here and tell me ok?”

“Right Sam; Ziggy! Centre me on Sherlock, Quickly!” 

There were a tense ten minutes as Sam waited for Al to get back. Anything could be happening right now, what if they were too late and Jim had spotted that Sherlock was on to him and acted early? What was he going to say to Sherlock? I know my Gay Psychopath Boyfriend is trying to kill you and all your friends because, hey you’ve been helping the police in all these criminal cases without telling anyone? Suddenly Al returned.

“He’s in the school science block with John, he’s working on something, if you hurry, you might catch him.” 

“Right” said Sam, grabbing the notebook and Molly’s purse “Go back to Sherlock and tell me if he moves all-right?”

“Ok Sam” replied his friend disappearing from sight. 

It had taken him twenty minutes to walk the eight blocks to the school but eventually he got there. As it was a Saturday the school was locked but Al had appeared and shown him the gap in the fence where Sherlock and John had snuck into. In fact, it looked like the gap had been cut by Sherlock as it was exactly the right height for a tall man like Sam to clamber through on bended knee. 

The door was already open when Sam walked through and quickly found Sherlock in the Science Lab, working on what looked like samples of sweets, looking at them under a microscope, a fresh notebook at his side. John was sitting on the side of the desk adjusting his square rims as he examined a medical text book. Looking up for a moment, he spotted Sam.

“Molly! What are you doing here? It’s a Saturday how’d you get in here?”

“The same way you did, through the hole in the fence.”

“How did you – oh never mind, you’re the new Sherlock, aren’t you, so, what brings you to Sherlock’s Laboratory?” 

The man in question didn’t even look up at the mention of his name, just continued to work on his samples. “Oh just, wanted to give Sherlock back his notebook, that’s all,” he smiled and placed the notebook in front of him.

“Thanks John but I don’t need that right now.” 

“It’s Molly,” corrected Sam, “Remember, you leant me your notebook? Oh never mind, look, do you two need a hand with anything, anything at all? I assume you’re on one of your cases, yeah?” Sam looked over at Al to check his facts.  
“Yeah,” he replied, “Another missing child, this time thirty minutes from Sherlock’s house. Little Girl called Gretel.” 

“The missing girl right? The one from near your house?” 

John smiled wider, he really was gorgeous no wonder Sherlock kept him around.

“Nothing gets passed you at all now days, this one wasn’t even mentioned in the press yet!”

“Come on John she’s just paying attention to the gossip I’m sure.”

Sherlock had finally looked up, giving Sam a curious looking as though he were re-examining something for the first time in years.

“While you’re here then, Molly, you can help with these samples” he thrust a series of dishes towards him “I need to know the exact chemical make up of these candy bars and where they came for. You’re looking for anything you can find, fragments of soil; finger prints; anything that would distinguish them from any other candy bar do you understand?” 

“Yes,” replied Sam taken aback “Why isn’t John help-” 

“Because John is an idiot and you obviously aren’t.” 

John looked at Sherlock, opened mouthed. It wasn’t that he’d been called an idiot, he was used to that, but Sherlock had just said that Molly wasn’t an idiot which… never happened. 

“Um, thank you….”

“Well, whilst you two geniuses are working I’ll go see about some lunch, I know you don’t want anything Sherlock it’s fine, I know. Molly?”

“Um, some chips would be fine thank you, John.”

The two of them were alone now. Sam looked over at the teenager to his left. He was still wearing that damn leather jacket and his hair was as perfect as ever, but there was something in the boy’s eyes… when he’d first met Sherlock there was a mischievous look in his eye, a twinkle which had made Sam instantly despise the smug arrogant git, but in the last day or so, it had disappeared. Around John he’d been smiling and laughing but right now there was a sadness about him. He noticed the boy absentmindedly drawing out the same three letters over and over again in the same code used to send the notes: I, O and U. 

“What’s I.O.U?” he asked. 

Sherlock didn’t look up, pretending to concentrate on the sweets.

“Sherlock I asked you a question, what’s I.O.U?” 

Sam grabbed him by the shoulder- “For goodness sakes look at me when I’m talking to you!” and oh crap the boy seemed close to tears… that was so, so unSherlock of him.

Sam had forgotten through it all that this kid wasn’t even out of his teens yet and was having to face death threats. More than that, he was being expected to solve all these cases for the actual cops, that was, that was messed up! He should be riding his motorbike out late at night, smoking behind bike sheds and doing his homework and yeah, the kid was doing all this but on top of the crime solving, the extra experiments and the apparent tragic past? What was the point of it all?

“Sherlock,” he whispered now- “I know about Jim. Is this the last message, I O U?” 

The boy nodded, whipping his nose on his sleeve. “I guess you saw it in the notebook, didn’t you?” 

Sam nodded.

“Elementary no doubt, it’s just… I think he’s going to kill me, Molly” the boy was fighting back the tears now- “He says he owes me a fall, all because I’ve been preventing some of his stupid crimes I just-” he gulped in some air. “Don’t tell John. I don’t want him to know, he can’t know. I think he’s planning on killing him too if I tell anyone; revenge. He’s a psychopath Molly, an actual psychopath.” There was a pleading look in his eyes now.

“All this” Sam gestured at the experiments “it’s just to keep him from knowing the truth, isn’t it? That little girl, she was never in danger, was she? Sherlock,” he paused, putting a comforting arm on the teenager’s shoulder.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Keep them safe.” 

He looked Sam dead in they eye now tears subsiding, the mask which had slipped somewhat was back on “Plus, I need you to do this for me, exactly as I ask…”

*

Sam had tried to work out a way that this could end without Sherlock throwing himself, but there was no way it would work. Ziggy said that Greg, Mrs Hudson and John would have to believe he had really committed suicide in order to be safe. Jim had to die as well, that much was clear. And so Sam had found himself inviting John, Mrs Hudson and Greg to dinner at Scotland Yard. It was out of the way, run by an ex-cop and didn’t have any points from which a gunman could shoot at them without being seen. They were just settling down to eat when Al appeared, gesturing for Sam to follow him into the ladies.

“Al!” whispered Sam, “You’re meant to be watching Sherlock!”

“I know I know. Don’t worry he just jumped off the building, witnesses a plenty, Homeless network, actual doctors, everything is fine. But it these three Sam, they’re going to die in the next ten minutes, their bodies are found in a ditch 5 miles from here!” 

Sam cursed under his breath.

“But I thought they were shot separately!”

“Not anymore!”

“They weren’t together last time, this time they are. Why?”

“I don’t know Sam!”

“Think Al, what’s changed?”

“Ahhh, I don’t know in the original timeline… Molly dumped Jim, I guess and never dated –“

“Never dated Lestrade right… which means, if Lestrade was followed here and they saw me with him… just,” Sam gulped, the only place that had changed had been right here. “It’s Frank.” 

“Who?” asked Al as Sam legged it from the bathroom just in time to see Frank raise a pistol from above the bar.

“Look out!” he cried tackling Frank who’d been taken off guard by his shout, the shot fired, but hit the ceiling. 

There was screaming around them as the three companions ran to his aid. Typical. These people were always running to the danger instead of away from it. Frank seemed to have the upper hand but when he’d thrown Sam off and lunged for Greg instead he hadn’t been expecting a flying kick to smack him round the head, or for Mrs Hudson to pull a miniature gun from out of… somewhere…somewhere Sam really didn’t want to think about. 

“If you dare move, I swear to God I will not kill you. I will shoot you just shy of any major organs or arteries, but I will ensure that the agony is so bad that you will wish you were dead. You will cry out for mercy as I twist your own bones deeper into the wound, and just as you think the pain will cause your death, I will stop and start it all over again. So, to conclude; don’t. You. Dare. Move.” Maybe Mrs Hudson had done a little more during the war than knit jumpers for the troops… 

“I don’t understand,” said Greg as the real cops came to take Frank away, “why would Frank do this? Why?”

“Moriarty, I guess” shrugged Sam, he saw their faces turn white – of course – they hadn’t have known yet… from behind him he heard two policemen discussing the case.

“That teen suicide, you know, that boy Sheriff Gregson was using to solve all those cases?”

“Oh yeah? I always thought he was a little good for nothing, guess this proves it, huh Mick?” 

Ten minutes later he was riding in a police vehicle to give two statements. One on the attempted murder by Frank Johnson and another two on Gregory Lestrade’s and John Hamish Watson’s charges of assaulting an officer of the law. Those two didn’t care though. They’d found out about the death of their closest friend, and then had had it confirmed by the Sheriff, who had let them off without charges. Sam had sat in the car ride home with them, why hadn’t he jumped yet? Surely Molly would have been better with dealing with her friend’s grief than he was?

But apparently not. In the week leading up to the funeral Sam had had to deal with helping Sherlock to sort out his escape route (he’d hop onto a boat in New York under the name “Altamont” and head over to France, where he had a Black Sheep of a grandmother who’d look after him, in the hopes of escaping from the last remains of Moriarty’s gang.) Sam had also had to deal with John and Greg who just looked so solemn all of the time. They were beyond tears, both of them- and most days they just sat in the fields that surrounded the school and said nothing. 

On the day of the funeral, Sherlock had insisted on coming. He’d stood beside his own grave as John wept at it, begging him to still be alive, to say that the suicide note he’d found in his bedroom had all been some sort of a game. Sam went to stand next to him, this separation was going to hurt Sherlock as well. Though not nearly as much as it would John; who already looked like his soul had been sucked out of his mouth…

“So when’s Molly coming back?” asked Sherlock, still gazing at John.

“I, what? I’m right here Sherlock, I’m here now. For you.” Sam reached out to put an arm around the Greaser.

“Not you, Mr Time Traveller, but Molly. Our Molly.”

“I…. you,” Sam gaped at him “you know?”

“Obvious really. You knew far too much about everything to be the real Molly. And you took down a man almost twice her size, leaving bruisers that do not match her frame at all. I could easily have died this week, as could my friends, so why didn’t I? Some interfering time traveller”

“Who just saved your lives and the lives of all those around you!”

“Yes well, thank you, I guess… now when’s Molly coming back or is she stuck in the future forever? Because if you’ve hurt her-”

“You care about her all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always cared about Molly. She’s been… there for me. Always. Hadn’t you noticed?” Sam went to say something then gave up. 

“I don’t know why I haven’t leapt yet, to be honest…”

“Well, as your invisible friend might tell you,”

“You know about Al as well, no, don’t answer that, of course you do, fine go on.”

“This is Molly’s leap, which suggests she needs to get something out of this, not just me.”

“And that is?” 

Sherlock gave a smirk, that mischievous twinkle back in his eyes- “Lets just say I think it will revolve around some of the laws of thermodynamics,” and he stalked off back to his motorbike where his kit was stored, donning a disguise he’d have to keep on for months, if not years. Perhaps he’d be able to grow his own beard in that time? 

Al appeared again, “Sam, Molly and Ziggy have come up with an idea as to why you haven’t leapt yet.”

“Molly and Ziggy?” 

“Oh yeah, the two of them have become thick as thieves, Molly’s been loving her time in the future, so many questions about science, you know, I think she’s going to make a great mortician.” Well that explained the skull, thought Sam “Anyway,” there was a twinkle in his eyes that was almost the exact same one as Sherlock had just had – “they’re calling it ‘Operation Lestrolly.’” 

“Of course they are” said Sam heaving a weary sigh as he walked over to Greg who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette.

“Hey Molly” he said wearily. “Look, thanks for, everything. It’s been hard you know, you’ve been there for me and I really apre-” 

Sam grabbed the boy by the scruff of his jacket and pulled him in for a ferocious, passionate kiss, not a fairy tale swoop like someone who didn’t know Molly might think she’d like; that didn’t know the cat loving mousy teen had a skull in the bottom of her wardrobe or a diagram of the human stomach above her mirror. It was the sort of kiss Molly would be wanting him to give Greg. The sort that might make him forget about the death of his surrogate-little brother for a bit. As Sam thrusted him up against the wall a little further he could feel the Leap coming on, the familiar electrical tingling over coming his body as for a split second he was one with Molly. In the distant background her could hear Al shouting out about how John and Sherlock got back together in England in twelve years and started up their own Detective Agency and how Molly and Greg had gotten married and become an unbeatable crime solving duo in their own right with the NYPD but all of that was drained out but the feeling he’d gotten from Molly that seemed to scream “Thank you, thank you so much, this has all been so amazing”. 

You know what? Leaping from life to life was pretty damn cool.

*

Sam felt the electrical surge fade away as quickly as it had come. In front of him, two men in their early twenties were making out, one of them blonde with well defined muscles whilst the other was skinner with black hair, the red scarf around his neck being tugged down and out of the way by the blonde. At the sound of the tray of tea and biscuits clattering to the ground, the two looked up and pushed each other away “Mum!” cried the dark haired boy  
“Mrs Emrys!” responded the blonde  
“Ooooooh boy”  
   

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock's Motorbike: http://cdn2.bikesevolution.com/pics/23/fa/bmw-r69-midamerica-auctions_02.jpg
> 
> I actually did a fair bit of research on that one! A lot of the more famous brands like Al mentioned were either unappealing to the eye, or else just not modern enough fro Sherlock. The BMW was pretty cool though, as you can see. It was designed by them to try and repair their image from the WWII, what with being German and all, and became quite popular over in America. Like Al said, it even broke some records! 
> 
> I also just think it looks really cool! Ok, modern ones might be sexier, but this one ain't half bad either!
> 
> Greg's Motorbike: http://bluespark.com.au/oneadmin/_files/photogallery/84895_38_m24_right.bs.jpg
> 
> I'm pretty sure this was the one I was talking about, loosing websites is so easy lol  
> But it's an older bike than Sherlock's has less mod-cons but I think it still looks pretty sweet, and Sam/Molly would look awesome clutched to Greg on the back of it ;)
> 
> Yeah, I'm not sure what the shipping here is doing. This is the issue with Quantum Leap. A new ship each week and you don't know if you're shipping Sam and the character or the person Sam has leapt INTO and the character. 
> 
> MADNESS!


End file.
